Unpack Your Heart
by I am the Color of Boom
Summary: A series of non-sequential but interdependent one-shots. Romantic Pairing: Geralt/Dandelion.
1. Chapter 1

**A Witcher and His Poet**

* * *

"I'm going with you."

Geralt sighs, leaning over and resting his elbows on blood-stained pants. Bringing his fighting-challenged friend along with him is a bad idea, he knows that. He blinks hard when dripping sweat stings his eyes, and he doesn't look up as Dandelion begins to unpack his satchel instead of leaving like he's just been told. He stares at the open fire, and he says quietly, "It's a suicide mission."

"I know, that's why I'm coming," is said back immediately. "You think I'm going to let you die alone?"

Geralt laughs at that, and he rubs at his face roughly. The cuts in his legs that had been bone deep, where razor-like tentacles had wrapped around, were still aching as they healed from the elixirs he'd downed just minutes before. The unknown monster, that had reminded him most of a zuegl and that he'd been paid almost nothing to kill, had caught him distracted, trying to save his friend from another one of the abominable creatures. It had been a lair.

The Witcher slowly lowers from the rock he's been sitting on and onto the cold ground, resting his back against the boulder's sloping side. He meets worried blue eyes, and he smiles, tiredly. "You shouldn't talk like that. The world would be a better place without me, not you."

The bard waves a dismissive hand at that, and he leans down, stirring a wooden spoon in a bubbling pot atop their fire. "Have you heard from Yennefer?" he asks, his tone conversational.

Geralt stares intently at the fire, and he lets out a silent breath, not responding.

"Sorry," his friend says quietly, and he scoops a bowl of whatever he's been cooking. Geralt didn't take notice in his rush to heal his wounds. "Here. Eat, you'll feel better."

Geralt looks down, loose silver locks falling into his face as he eyes the offered food shrewdly that smells only kind of like food.

"It's rabbit," is said insistently.

Cat-like eyes narrow. "What herbs did you use?" he asks, unconvinced.

The bowl is pushed into his hands. "You're ungrateful, I don't know how you keep me as a friend."

Geralt laughs again at that, and he picks up his spoon as he looks to his upset friend, who has settled on the other side of the fire, with crossed arms and a scowl. "I'm sorry, Dandelion. Look," he says, taking a bite and forcing it down when it tastes like it smells, "it's really good."

"You're lying." Dandelion dead pans.

Geralt laughs some more, almost spilling his soup, and forgetting about his shitty week. He takes another few more bites, forcing them down his throat when his stomach tries to out his lies, and he hums his content. "No, it's really good. Thanks for making it."

The blond slumps at that, his shoulders seeming to deflate, and a smile crosses his features. "Really? Because I wasn't sure, I found this plant down by the river, and it smelled really nice fresh, but once I cut into it, well not so much... but it's good?" He looks hopeful.

The Witcher holds back a curse, his stomach roiling. "Yeah, have some," he says, silver brows lowering the slightest bit.

He watches his friend eagerly scoop out some of the soup he'd tried out on him, and looks down, pushing around his spoon as he waits.

"Ugh"—Geralt smiles down at his soup as his friend coughs and chokes—"it's _terrible_ , it's the most vile thing I've ever _tasted_. It's like a witch's rotten milk that's been sitting in the sun—"

"No more," the Witcher warns, setting his bowl on the ground beside him, his stomach churning more. He checks his legs to see that they're mostly healed, but his pants unfortunately are not. "We need to stop by the next town we pass, I need to see a tailor," he says, moving over a few feet to rest his head on a rolled up blanket that he'd been given for partial pay for his last job. He sighs, the cheap material itchy on his face.

"Sure, and I need a new hat," Dandelion says as he dumps the pot of unsavory soup off by some trees. He walks back, tossing on a few more twigs and some dry leaves into their dwindling fire, scowling at a laughing Geralt as he crouches down and rubs his hands together vigorously over the dimming fire. "What?"

"Nothing"—Geralt sniffs, and shifts his shoulder some to get more comfortable, not feeling the bite of the coming winter air as he watches Dandelion shiver. "You cold?"

"Yeah," the bard says and shrugs, "I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"Okay." Geralt closes his eyes, but then a second later he sighs; he feels like he does that a lot around his friend anymore. "Come here." His keen hearing picks up no movement. "Come on, I don't mind," he says more convincingly.

Then he feels a body lower down next to his, a shoulder brushing his chest, but instead of moving onto his back he shifts closer and wraps an arm tiredly around his friend. "So difficult," he says.

"I don't have any pillow."

Geralt smiles, and he lifts his head and pushes the rolled up blanket forward some. "Better?"

"Some."

He feels Dandelion roll onto his side too, so that his back is resting awkwardly against his front, and the Witcher curls his considerably larger body around his friend's cold one, until they're like jigsaw pieces, perfectly conformed to the other.

"Is this good now?" he murmurs, his low voice rumbling in his chest, the soft crackle of the fire like a lullaby to his exhausted mind and body.

"Yeah... thanks, Geralt."

The Witcher hums his tired response, and the sound of a distant howl pierces the night air. He wraps his arm more snugly around his best friend's chest when he shivers at the sound. "Don't worry, sleep," he says, quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

**For the Sake of Killing a Righteous Monster**

* * *

Music was playing loudly, people laughing and dancing.

The air was uncomfortably warm with body heat, the crowd too big and too lively for the erected tent, and the ocean's briny breeze drifting in through openings was doing little to alleviate the stifling conditions.

"We should dance."

Geralt leaned back, his shirt left undone the top few buttons to help cool him, and his silver hair pulled back in a ponytail. "I don't dance."

Dandelion harrumphed, shrugging off Geralt's hand from his shoulder, its resting placing for the past ten minutes or so. "Then we might as well go, no one's even going to suspect anything if we don't dance."

The silver-haired witcher fought back a smile as he dropped his chin in greeting towards a few young women with fans as they passed, who were eyeing him and Dandelion quite curiously. He slid his left hand back around his friend's shoulders, his right one grasping the poet's bouncing knee firmly, stifling the action as he shifted closer to him. The chair beneath him scraped over dry sandy earth, and he leaned over and whispered in his best friend's ear, "There are _other ways_ to look like a couple," his expression suggestive and affecting the tone of his words.

"I suppose"—Dandelion cleared his throat softly—"and why do people need to, uh, see this again?"

Geralt kept his mouth near his friend's ear, smiling curiously when he felt the bard take in a quick breath at his nose accidentally brushing his cheek. "Because I believe the monster might work by word of mouth, hence the reasoning for this 'sin' to begin with. I don't want to murder anyone, let alone in front of a crowd. The last thing I need is to be wanted just for a job."

Dandelion sucked on his teeth, nodding, looking unusually tense, as he perused the crowd.

He and Geralt were definitely beginning to attract some attention. Confused glances from people who knew of the infamous, silver-haired monster hunter probably making up a good portion of it, because they'd expected more contempt in the very non-progressive town. "What about lying?" he offered.

"I tried that already, and either I'm an exceptionally good liar, or the monster doesn't consider that an enticing enough of a sin. Although, it did make me reconsider my profession, I could have quite the income as a soothsayer in this town. Now," he said, nipping at his friend's earlobe, and smiling again when the poet startled, almost jumping out of his seat if he hadn't been held there, "why didn't you tell me you were homophobic?"

"I'm _not_!" the bard protested, sounding scandalized. "I'm an artist, that's the _least_ homophobic you can get! I love homosexuals!" Dandelion straightened himself then, and he found himself glaring at a group of girls who'd huddled close by, looking their way and giggling as they openly ogled the witcher. "Can you believe those harlots over there? For all they know we could be in a serious relationship!"

He turned to his smirking, silver-haired friend, who didn't seem the least put out, but possibly a little interested. He grabbed the front of his shirt, irritation spurring him on, and he pulled Geralt close until his fist was pressing into his sizable collarbone. "I can out-homophile you _any_ day, and _stop flirting with those girls, I'm not just some stupid floozy you can cheat on whenever you think I'm not looking_."

"I'm not flirting with them, I'm just being _polite_." Geralt grinned, tauntingly, more than a little amused when his friend seemed to get legitimately angrier with him. "As for the other thing... I really doubt that, _Buttercup_."

Blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Wanna bet?"

Silver brows furrowed some—and the next thing Geralt knew—his friend's mouth was suddenly pressing to his. The witcher's cat-like pupils widened in surprise, shock keeping him from responding, either to pull away discreetly to keep up the charade or to outdo him embarrassingly. But before he could decide to do either, he felt fingers _soften_ their hold on his shirt, and then, Dandelion's mouth parted ever so slightly; and the poet _hummed_ almost imperceptibly against his lips. The sound reminiscent to when his friend would taste an especially good dessert at a proper party, where such noises were considered taboo... but he just couldn't help himself.

Geralt leaned into the kiss some, experimentally, and the delicate fingertips of an artist slipped inside his shirt just under his collar, strumming over the tightly corded muscles of his neck in a way that made him want to groan. So he did. He vaguely heard an angry shout, his keen hearing failing him selectively just then as a tongue stroked his lower lip. Yellow eyes fell shut, and at the same point the witcher's mouth opened hungrily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Too Much Talk of Dying**

* * *

Geralt patted his grey mare, urging her forward with his seat as she tried to slow. The bridge ahead creaked and swayed. The pitch-dark sky above had been daylight only minutes before. "It's okay, Roach," he said quietly, encouraging her when her head began to raise, the wooden slats beneath her hooves not a lot wider than one would expect in a walking bridge.

The silver-haired witcher hearing only one set of horse hooves kept his gaze forward as he called behind him. "Everything all right, Dandelion?"

"Yeah, I'm just going to wait until you've crossed," was called back squeamishly.

"It's strong enough to hold us both," he said, shifting his weight to guide his mare back to the center as they passed the midway point. A wind picked up, and the sky seemed to grow. "You should hurry, before it starts raining."

"Maybe I'll just stay over here for tonight!" was shouted just as the bridge began to creak with a vengeance.

Geralt cursed and urged Roach on when she began to dance on the narrow passage, breaking into a trot the last few strides. He pulled her in when she tried to take off, turning her in a tight circle to look back on the bridge, and ice cold rain began to fall. "I wouldn't! There are ghouls out tonight, and you won't be able to start a fire if this keeps up, just hurry, you'll be fine!"

The blond cursed colorfully as only a world-renowned poet could, and Geralt almost found himself grinning until his friend slid down from his mount, and he watched in a growing concern as he began to cross, leading his horse across.

The clouds chose that moment to open up, and Geralt held Roach in place as she tried to dance towards coverage. "We have to wait for Dandelion first," he said quietly, watching his friend reach the halfway mark but struggling to keep his horse under control. He reached out his hand and formed a sign over her, calming her, then he dismounted just in case. He watched his friend struggling, moving more slowly as he fought to keep his horse from trampling him, the bridge beginning to sway in an unnatural way, and a board just a few feet behind the poet and his horse came loose, then another, both falling and crashing beneath. "Just let him cross, I'll catch him!" he shouted over the thunderous rain.

"Okay!" Dandelion urged his horse forward, the animal needing little encouragement as it took off.

Geralt barely saw it pass, his gaze focused intently on his friend who was stumbling over rain-slicked boards, the bridge shaking more and more, looking like it might throw him off, and he held onto Roach as he edged towards it. He reached out his hand, leaning out onto the swaying pass. "Come on, you can make it!"

His friend met his gaze, blue eyes suddenly wide, and the poet surged forward just as the bridge began to fall. Geralt dropped the reins, grabbing onto his friend's outreached hand, and then he was pulling them both backwards with all his strength and onto solid ground.

* * *

"Just let him cross, I'll catch him!"

Geralt sighed as he peeled his wet shirt off, laying it carefully spread out by a crackling fire. "I told you, it was him or you. Which would you have preferred?" He stood back up to undo his pants.

"Me, of course!" the poet shouted, sounding thoroughly offended. "But you didn't have to lie! I had everything under control."

The silver-haired man stepped out of his pants, arranging them with care like the rest of his clothes before turning to face his friend. "If you had, I wouldn't have lied."

The soaked blond stared back at him with a peculiar expression, before recognition crossed his face, and he blinked a few times rapidly before shouting, "Ah _ha_! So you admit you were lying!"

Geralt sighed, and he approached his friend. "Stop yelling, you're going to get us kicked out." He passed him, the single bed in the room looking incredibly welcoming after weeks of sleeping on the ground outside. They'd happened upon a farm house less than a mile after the bridge that belonged to a farmer, his wife, and his four daughters.

"I'm just saying, you could've trusted me."

The witcher pulled down a blue and white quilt, slipping under, and he grunted as his body sunk into the welcoming material. He sighed. "I'm sorry, you're right. Now come to bed."

Geralt let his eyes close, and he listened to grumblings, and then blankets pulled down some, and he felt his friend slip in. He frowned when he felt a slight draft, and he opened his eyes to find the blankets pulled taut between him and the blond poet, who had his back to him and who was hanging half off the bed.

He lay there for a few seconds. "What are you doing?"

" _Ah_." Dandelion started, and he rolled onto his back, shooting him a wide-eyed glance. "Has anyone ever told you your voice is terrifying? It's like if a ghoul mated with a monster."

Geralt grinned some. His friend never tried to smooth over his witcher characteristics or lie about his roughness to save his feelings... which he found oddly refreshing. It made him feel like he could truly relax around him. He noticed blue eyes flick back over and take quick account of his scarred bare torso, and his enhanced vision caught growing black pupils. "You didn't answer my question." He shifted forward and towards his undressed friend, who responded by quickly turning onto his side and edging away.

The witcher had to repress a bigger smile. "What's wrong with you?"

Dandelion swallowed loudly. "It's just, do you realize how disturbingly big you look without your clothes on?"

Geralt felt a laugh shake his chest. "You've seen me before, Dandelion, I haven't grown."

The poet hummed uncertainly, and Geralt's laughter persisted as he reached out, pulling his friend's hand and setting his palm overtop his chest as if it would prove his previous words to be true. "What does it matter? We're just lying in bed to sleep, I'm not challenging you to a battle."

Geralt's heart thumped steadily under his friend's resting palm, and after a few moments of silence, the only sound the small fire crackling a few feet away, Dandelion's hand began to drift somewhat...

"Hmm..."

"Mmm..." Geralt responded, vertical pupils slipping behind closed lids.

"Have you spoken to Yennefer recently?" was asked, the bard's voice quieting.

Geralt shook his head faintly, and cocked his hips upward reflexively as distracting, cool fingertips trailed down his stomach in an unfamiliar way. "What are you doing?"

"You ask that a lot," Dandelion said, his words a playful hum, the poet seemingly over his initial scare of sharing a cot with him. "She'll kill me if she ever finds out about this..."

Geralt husked a laugh, not initiating anything as his friend teased his lower stomach, perhaps waiting for some kind of response from him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested at that moment. His mind flicked back to their kiss a few months back, and the unexpected reaction that had flooded his body. "About what?" he said, his gruff voice hiding a smile. "You're not doing anything."

Fingers snuck lower, and the silver-haired witcher drew in a chestful of air.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Dandelion murmured suddenly against his neck.

Geralt grunted, his friend's impishly curled lips suddenly trailing his skin and talented hand sliding around him. "You're right, she would be upset over this, but don't worry, I'll protect you," he said, wrapping his arms around his best friend's body and pulling him closer to him on the small bed, his cool skin feeling nice against his warm as he added in a rough whisper, "That way we can die _together_."

Dandelion laughed softly, his hand speeding up as he relaxed, Geralt wrapped around him, causing his heart to beat erratically and his mind to turn to mush. He questioned his sanity, but never his feelings when it came to the larger man.


End file.
